Blunt

Emma’s outfit: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=67321829

I arrived home to be greeted by a raging mother, ignoring her I walked calmly towards my room, only to slam my door, unsatisfied by the slam I repeated the action, locked my door, and clutched my phone contemplating how he had my number. After a few unintelligent theories including, spy rings around London and telepathy, I concluded that he must have texted himself from my phone to obtain my number…which was creepy. This also explained my lack of credit.

I threw the phone into the wall and decided to write. With (One of those) Crazy Girls by Paramore accompanying my thoughts, I was able to successfully finish another chapter of my novel, as well as a few harsh diary entries. This was my relief, I revelled on the thought that writing was my escape, so many of my past friends chose to drink mindlessly. I took pride in my ability to disconnect from ‘normal’ adolescent tendencies, such as attending parties. Naturally, that didn’t exactly help me in the "friends department".

Moving to London was such a drastic change in my life although it has been over 2 years since my last encounter with the beautiful coasts of Australia, I hadn’t quite forgotten, or for that matter adapted to my new lifestyle. It was easier for my sister, she still went to school, she had the advantage of having to forcibly interact with her peers, I however struggled to strike up a conversation with anyone. Who was I kidding? It was the same in Australia, of course I went through a phase like most teenagers, but I never really connected with any of the friends I made, which became quite clear as connections and conversations began to seize completely only weeks after my goodbyes to them.

It was now 11.20pm, sitting by candle light, googling Charlavail and causing myself to feel a bad case of envy became unsatisfying, so I decided to go for my nightly stroll. I did this whenever mum and I stopped talking. Throwing on some clothing and grabbing my backpack, I crawled out the window and walked. I didn’t no where I was going, I never did. I also never cared. Turning up the volume on my IPod, Ed Sheeran’s voice calmed my fears of the London night life.

I veered off onto different streets, making split decisions based on their appearances. I made it to an intersection on the right were a string of clubs and bars buzzing with the raucous noise of people, to the left were boring buildings and one large hotel surrounded by cameras. I chose the latter hoping to avoid a surplus of drunk party goers. I carefully crossed the road only to run straight into someone, immediately I began to apologise, “shit, sorry…” I started, as usually these types of occurrences were my fault, I looked up at the hooded figure before me as he interrupted “No, no my fault, sorry” he mumbled, I recognised his deep voice immediately and regretted my decision to veer this way, I would rather drunks then him again. “Oh, its you! Thank you so much for wasting my last ounce of credit, jerk” I pushed past him and turned back the way I came, embarrassingly enough I couldn’t cross as the light was red, so I stood there pretending to be at ease with the situation, I could picture the childish grin and that only made me angrier.

“That's no way to greet someone” His voice was right in my ear, and I heard the smile in it. I rolled my eyes and began to say “Oh, I think i'm entitled, you thieving…” before I could finish I was interrupted by another voice, female this time “Emma, who are you arguing with?” I turned back to meet the eyes of my boss, Amelia. Quickly I swivelled to where Harry had been, but he was gone. “…nobody” I eventually mumbled still in shock. “Right… I’m glad I ran into you actually, I was wondering if you could come in tomorrow? Sarah has a cold and I can’t be there to supervise all day alone!”, “Won’t Jasmine be there?” I contradicted, she looked uncomfortable, guilt overtook me and before she could answer I agreed to meet her bright and early, after an awkward hug and an over the top thank you, I practically ran home.

Notes